


Tentacles in Love

by cleo4u2, xantissa



Series: Consentacles: Adventures of an Elder God [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Consentacles, Cronuts, Cuddles, Fluff, M/M, Tentacle Cuddles, Tentacle Porn, aphrodisiac secretions, bottom!Steve, mentions of elder gods eating people, no Clint Bartons were harmed in the making of this fic, stuffing all the holes, tentacle knotting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 04:10:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14252763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: No matter how Clint looked at it, the guy visiting Disneyland and window shopping while eating ice cream could not be the Winter Soldier, much less the reason for the trail of murder and mayhem he and Natasha were following. It couldn’t be the pretty, not-all-there companion either. But someone was leaving Hydra bodies, half-eaten and crushed, all along the Pacific seaboard. Someone who happened to be where the Winter Soldier and his pretty blond friend happened to be.





	Tentacles in Love

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to our amazing beta: Nurse Darry

They were in the mountains, somewhere in California, driving through the thick forest on a one lane, dirt track. This lead, like the others, would likely come to nothing. Just another time when they’d arrived too late, or the intel was simply bad. It wouldn’t stop her, wouldn’t stop Clint from insisting on accompanying her into the sparsely populated mountains. Natasha wasn’t going to stop until she’d taken them all down, every bastard that had ever helped set up the Red Room.

They’d all _burn_.

Well, she’d settle for seeing them in S.H.I.E.L.D. cells.

The road curved about a thick copse of trees and Clint slammed on the breaks. Ahead, the road was blocked by a black tactical van parked in front of a large overhang rock. The darkness beneath seemed to be more than a mere absence of light; a cave, she guessed. 

“Huh,” Clint said, summing up her thoughts as well. It _hadn’t_ been a dead end tip, and they weren’t too late. Hydra was still here, and as they hadn’t been shot at, hadn’t left guards.

“No lookout?” Natasha questioned.

Clint merely shrugged and opened the cab door. When there was still no gunfire, Natasha joined him, checking her weapons one last time in case the guard was just napping. Still nothing, and a shiver of unease ran up Natasha’s back. This kind of lax discipline was very unlike the Hydra they knew and hated. For all that Hydra stood for the lowest and most cowardly values, they operatives were always highly trained. If Natasha had to be brutally honest, on average they were better trained than general SHIELD personnel. They were fanatics after all, every single one of them. Even less like the Soldier they were chasing. For one, he usually travelled with a highly trained support team, and second, there should have been someone left as lookout. This whole situation… it didn’t look right.

Something black darted towards her, and Natasha snatched the flashlight from the air before even recognizing what it was. She shot Clint a _look_ , but he just grinned and turned his own on before clipping it to his chest, leaving both his hands free. Rolling her eyes, she did the same and hurried to lead the way into the cave. He was good, but he was better at her back.

The cavern was deep, leading them on a winding path with stone walls rising all around and above them. If it weren’t for the flashlights glinting off the shiny surface, Natasha wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between the walls and the air itself. Everything was just that dark, like an old volcano tunnel of solid obsidian, and it didn’t seem to have an end. They made no noise as they slipped further into the cave, waiting at any moment to see a light ahead, to hear the voices of the Hydra agents they had tailed. 

There was nothing.

There was no one.

When they finally reached the source of the sound of gentle waves, Natasha realized they were, in fact, too late. The cavern as huge, the water’s end lost to sight and a lack of light. The stone that led to the water, however, was short and they finally found their missing soldiers. 

Rather, what was left of them.

The bodies had been neatly laid out, side by side, in front of a navy altar of polished stone. To a man, they had been crushed, ripped apart, or both. The pieces were set together in a macabre tableau, as if someone just needed to stitch them back together and they’d sit up once more. Those that still had faces were wrenched in expressions of terror and agony.

“Jesus,” Clint cursed. “The fuck _happened_?”

Natasha didn’t know, wasn’t sure she wanted to.

“Spread out. See what you can find.”

Nodding, they each took a side of the cavern and began sweeping for… Natasha didn’t know what she was looking for. What she found was equipment, set up and abandoned. It was in good shape, except for the lightbulbs which had all exploded leaving shards of broken glass everywhere. There were torches, but none were lit. Strangest of all, there was hardly any blood on the ground, and that was a definitely out of place among such carnage.

“Tasha,” Clint called. “Come look at this.”

Turning, Natasha joined Clint at the strange altar that was set on the jut of stone nearly touching the water. As she walked up, Clint nudged a set of cuffs and restraints, utterly crushed. Whoever had worn them had likely been crushed as well.

“Two naked bodies over there,” Clint motioned toward the side he’d been inspecting. “No weapons anywhere. This is a message, Tasha. Not that I can tell what it’s saying, but it’s a message to someone.”

“It’s a warning,” Natasha agreed grimly.

“From the Soldier?” Clint asked, eyebrows drawing together as he surveyed the remains once more.

Natasha shrugged.

“Maybe. Though he’s less…”

“Yeah,” Clint sighed, “I didn’t see any shell casings, or evidence of gunfire either.”

Pinching her lips together, Natasha took another look around. The Soldier didn’t always use guns, his arm almost as much a trademark as his impossible shots.

“We shouldn’t linger.”

“What?” Clint was instantly on edge, arrow nocked, as he scanned the entire cavern with his light. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Natasha tried to reassure, “Just… a feeling. This place… We should go.”

She was a Russian at heart and had certain beliefs bred into the bone. You didn’t walk around cemeteries at night, you never went back home for forgotten items, and you always, always knocked on unpainted wood to ward off bad luck. Turning her back on the scene of carnage, Natasha wished she had some on hand because these men had had the worst of luck.

\----

The trolley dinged and slowed, and both Steve and Bucky hopped on. Bucky passed over their fare to the harried conductor, but they didn’t sit. The car, likely made before Bucky was even born, was packed full of people, all set on riding instead of walking the San Francisco streets. Steve was in love with the city, the people, the sights and smells and noises. It was adorable to watch just how excited he was to experience life as a human - especially tasting things - and being around him was at once exhausting and invigorating. The former because Steve, though a god, was more like a high-energy golden retriever. The latter, because as jaded as Bucky had realized he was, seeing the world through Steve’s eyes was like being offered his own pair of rose-tinted glasses. 

It had turned out that Steve’s understanding of how humanity worked was… limited. Especially when he was feeling restricted by his new form. Bucky had quickly learned to always make sure that Steve had at least one hand free, because if both were busy and he needed to pick up something, he didn’t react like a person - put down one thing and pick up the other. No, he tended to manifest a tentacle to pick it up for him. He usually didn’t even notice he was doing it, so it was left to Bucky to keep an eye out unless he wanted mass panic around them.

“Bucky!” Steve called, tugging on his sleeve and pointing at a stone heart set upon the steps leading up to a park. It was red, white, and blue, and shiny, surrounded by tourists. “Another one!”

“Yeah, doll,” Bucky hooked his arm around Steve’s waist, “How many is that?”

“Ten,” Steve announced, blue eyes sparkling. “You’re really okay if we see them all?”

Laughing, Bucky kissed Steve on the cheek. It was a gesture he never would have thought he could make in public, but here in the city they had seen dozens of couples, all the same gender, holding hands, touching, and kissing. Even a wedding, which was where they’d encountered the first heart that had inspired Steve to seek out all the rest that were scattered about San Francisco. 

“Of course I am,” Bucky assured, “Anything you want to do, anything you want to see. Just say the word.”

“The word?” Steve repeated. “Which word?”

This time, when Bucky laughed, Steve rolled his eyes, realizing he’d said something amusing again. He nudged Bucky’s hip, then burrowed against his side. Steve was the cuddliest god Bucky had never expected to find, always wanting to touch, to be held, or to hold Bucky. It was a miracle they were allowed to be together these days, because Bucky didn’t think Steve would have been able to hold back for long. Just restricting himself to two arms instead of a few hundred tentacles was a feat for Steve.

“It means, just tell me,” Bucky explained.

Steve smiled at him, making Bucky’s heart flutter.

“Okay.”

\----

A week after the strange cave, the Winter Soldier had been spotted in Los Angeles. Well, a person who might have been the Fist of Hydra had been spotted. The smile on his face wasn’t anything Clint was used to, but Tasha had been sure the picture was of Hydra’s strongest weapon. So sure was she that she had ignored Fury’s orders to let someone else handle it, and they headed in on their own. There was a team following the Soldier, but that wasn’t enough for Tasha. Clint had to agree, if he was on a mission, if he was playing a role the way Tasha could, it would be better if he and Tasha went after him. The teams were good, but they weren’t good enough, if what Clint had seen in that cave was any indication. 

Besides, the way Tasha was singularly focused on him indicated there was a personal history between them. She hadn’t yet told Clint why she was so determined to hunt down the Winter Soldier, but she would eventually. He wouldn't ask, either way. He was here as backup, as a friend, not an interrogator. If she wanted to keep her secrets? Let her have them. Enough had been taken from her already over the years.

After landing at the airport in LA, they’d rented a car and headed to where the team following the Winter Soldier and his companion had last checked in. The had sent reports from Disneyland, Sea World, and tourist locations Clint hadn’t even heard of. Strange for a world-class assassin, to say the least. The Hydra bodies being discovered, crushed and shredded, were less strange.

Clint didn’t know the city all that well. Which was his excuse after Natasha and he came face to face with a pissed-off Winter Soldier. If Clint was honest, it was his fault. He had watched the guy drink a colorful smoothie through a straw and meander down the street, window shopping. His left hand had been in the pocket of his leather jacket, the other wrapped around the drink. His long hair was clean and combed back, large sunglasses on his face, while wearing dark jeans, combat boots, and a simple white long-sleeved tee under the jacket. All in all, the Winter Soldier looked like any other man his age, if fitter than average. His shoulders were relaxed, no tension in his body. It was hard to think of this guy as all that dangerous.

Natasha was across the street, slightly behind, making sure there weren't any Hydra support teams nearby. She had said she couldn’t take point because the Soldier would notice her in the crowd. It seemed strange - Tasha was the best at this game - but who was he to argue? Still, he imagined she wouldn’t have made the same mistake.

When the Soldier had turned down a side street, Clint had followed at a safe distance. The alley was short and clean. There was a lot of foot traffic on the other end, but no sign of the Soldier. Clint cursed, picking up his pace, assuming he had mismanaged the gap between them. He didn't even hear the attack. One moment he was half-running and the next he was being crushed to the pavement under two hundred-plus pounds of pissed-off super-soldier. The bastard must have climbed to a rooftop, then jumped down on Clint, hitting him like a freight train. Clint took the hit well enough not to break anything, but that unyielding metal hand wrapped around his throat, and he wasn’t going anywhere. 

Clint opened his mouth to call for backup, his comms connecting him to Tasha, but the Soldier put his fingers into his ear and pulled the unit out.

Damn.

“Who are you, and what do you want from me?” The Soldier’s voice was low and tight, his grip unyielding. Clint didn’t doubt he wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. Yet, the fact that he was asking questions was a good omen. For as long as it lasted, anyways.

Before Clint could speak, Natasha charged into the alleyway, running full out, guns pointed at the Soldier. Stopping mere feet away, chest heaving, she aimed at the Soldier’s head. In response, the metal hand about Clint’s neck tightened, threatening to choke the life out of him, or just snap it like tinder. It was a stalemate, and both assassin’s knew it. They stared at each other, neither flinching, neither moving. Time was on Natasha’s side, though. Someone would notice they were here and call the cops. Unfortunately, that meant it wasn’t on Clint’s. Any backup for Natasha meant the Winter Soldier was more likely to put an end to his hostage.

“Well, isn’t this cozy,” Clint said.

The Soldier ignored him.

“Put it down and I’ll let him live.”

Natasha sneered.

“Why should I believe that?” 

“Bucky!” a voice interrupted, calling from the end of the alley. Clint stared as a tall, blond, all-American jock of a man rounded the corner, passed Natasha like she wasn’t holding a gun, and walked straight to where the Winter Soldier was pinning Clint to the ground.

“Buck! I found cronuts!” the stranger - Clint vaguely recognized him as the Soldier’s companion - said gleefully. “They’re amazing. Have you had them? Who even comes up with this stuff? I bought enough for everyone. Oh, and I ate those Hydra guys that were following us.” 

_Ate?_ Clint thought, but then one of the cronuts was being pushed into his hand. Another into the Soldier’s, and then the oblivious jock walked right up to Natasha and held out a pastry.

“Buck?” Natasha asked trying to keep an eye both on the newcomer and the Winter Soldier at the same time. If it hadn’t meant the Winter Soldier would have an opportunity to kill Clint and flee, she probably would have shot the blond guy by now.

“It’s my name,” the Winter Soldier snapped.

“That’s a terrible name,” Clint said, then grunted as the metal hand at his neck pinched. 

Good naturedly, the jock said, “I think it has character.” Clint tilted his head as much as the the Soldier’s hold allowed to watch the man still waiting for Natasha to take the proffered cronut. He looked so oblivious of Tasha’s gun it was almost artificial. Clint had thought the guy was a kind of beard, a way for the Soldier to keep his cover as a civilian. Even a civilian would be scared of a gun, but this guy acted like he didn’t know what a weapon was, or as if there was no threat here. Clint didn’t know what to think about it. “So who’re your friends?” 

“They’re not friends,” the Winter Soldier said.

The jock looked sceptical. 

“Um, if they’re not coming to bed, why are you on top of that one?” 

Clint stared at the cronut in his hand, then craned his neck to see the Winter Soldier staring at his companion with something like fondness. He caught movement from Tasha and flicked his eyes to watch her gingerly take a cronut from the jock. As if knowing she could be easily spooked, the man held perfectly still until she’d withdrawn her hand, then retreated to where the Soldier - Buck - was sitting on Clint. Luckily, he didn’t get in Tasha’s line of sight.

“Was that inappropriate?” the blond guy asked, and Clint’s brain flicked back to his question, having been utterly distracted by the interaction with Tasha. “Um, does no one want to try their cronuts? They’re really very good.”

To Clint’s surprise, the Winter Soldier wasted no more time before chowing down. It left him more defenseless and distracted, but he hadn’t hesitated. The hand on Clint’s neck didn’t waver, but he was certainly paying the jock more attention than Tasha. It was so un-Soldier-like. Clint was starting to think they were missing something, some essential piece of the puzzle that they just didn’t have. This guy was clearly the reason for Disneyland, and in Clint’s experience, no one _evil_ liked Disney.

Slowly, Clint lifted the cronut to his mouth and bit down. It melted in his mouth, buttery and sweet and delicious. Almost better than pizza.

“It’s great, Stevie,” the Winter Soldier said. “You can tell me how you found it later.”

“It’s very good,” Clint agreed through his mouthful. “Um, Tash? Why don’t you try it too?”

“Clint?” Natasha asked. 

“Come on, Tasha,” Clint said, smiling weakly. He understood her reluctance. How long had she been chasing after the Soldier? After Hydra? And Clint was asking her to stand down, to lower her weapon and talk, but he was sure that _talking_ was exactly what this situation required.

Natasha fixed her green eyes on him, pale and cold as ice. She pinned him with her unimpressed gaze, never taking her eyes off his to make sure he was aware just how unimpressed she was with his chosen course of action, she slowly took a small bite of the pastry and chewed carefully.

“You like it?” the jock asked, his voice still friendly and cheerful even though Natasha was radiating enough cold to drop the temperature around them a few degrees.

“It’s nice,” she said blandly, deliberately showing no reaction to the taste. Clint could feel, more than hear, an irritated huff travelling through the Soldier.

“I have more,” Steve offered. “You want one more, Buck?”

“I, um,” the Winter Soldier started. 

Steve fished out another cronut from the bag and ate it slowly, watching Clint and the Soldier. Through his mouthful he said, “Because if you are not having sex with him and not killing him, I don’t really understand what you are actually doing with him.”

Okay, Clint had had enough. He was all about letting people be who they wanted to be, but the sex talk was too much. He wasn’t having sex with anybody, especially the Winter Soldier, and especially in an alleyway in Los Angeles. Not that he had anything against sex, or sex with men. He just had a lot against having sex with someone who could kill him in a heartbeat.

“Nobody is having sex with anybody,” he said sharply. 

The jock looked him up and down.

“I don’t think you get to tell me who I can have sex with. There are laws about that now. Bucky told me.” Clint tapped his head on the ground. “Objectively, you do have a nice appearance,” he continued blithely and Clint choked as the metal arm tightened on his neck in response to the half-compliment.

“Thank you,” Clint rasped out. “Still not interested.”

The blond guy shrugged.

“Okay then. Bucky? Get off him?”

The Winter Soldier looked up at Natasha and Clint knew what wasn’t being said.

“Tasha?” Clint said. “Maybe put the gun down, yeah?”

Natasha wasn’t happy, but she did point the muzzle at the ground. At this point, she was probably operating on the same assumptions as Clint. Steve seemed totally innocent, an impossibility in this day and age. Perhaps Hydra had been experimenting on him as well, and the Soldier had freed him. They didn’t know. Whatever was happening, Steve seemed to have tamed the Soldier as he climbed off of Clint. The old Soldier? The Fist of Hydra? He never would have let Clint live this long.

Calm and controlled or not, Clint wasted no time giving himself some distance from the Soldier. He had no wish to be in reach of that metal arm, whether or not the Soldier was tame. He had seen too many pictures of all the horrifying damage that metal monstrosity was capable of doing. 

“Cronut?” 

The voice, just behind him, made him jump half a foot into the air and whirl around, only to face the aforementioned treat hovering at eye level. He hadn’t even heard Steve get the pastry out of the bag, much less move so close. Yet there it, and he, was.

“Uh, thanks,” Clint said, tentatively taking the offering.

“Now what?” the Winter Soldier demanded.

“Yes, since it’s not sex,” Steve said, and Clint was greeted to the rare sight of Winter Soldier rolling his eyes.

“You are doing this on purpose,” the Soldier muttered. He turned to see Steve’s reaction, but the large man was just chomping down on a cronut of his own.

“Listen,” Clint raised his hands in the universal gesture of surrender, “I think it’s pretty obvious we need to talk. How about you two come back with us to our safe house? If, like I’m thinking, you’re not with Hydra, maybe we can clear your name? Get things worked out, so people aren’t following you guys around? So… Steve doesn’t have to eat people?”

The joke fell flat when Steve just shrugged and declared, “I don’t mind.”

“I’m not keen on exchanging one master for another,” the Soldier said in a low, dark voice.

“Of course not.” Steve wrapped a comforting arm around the Soldier’s back and pulled him close. The man was stiff in the jock’s hold, but allowed it. Sadly, Clint thought Tasha would never take comfort in public like that. “Never, Buck.”

“You can’t expect to just be left to roam free,” Natasha said, shaking her head.

The Soldier lowered his chin, eyes hardening as he turned to face Tasha. Clint struggled not to walk over to the brick wall and hit his head against it. Really? That was what the master interrogator chose to say when they’d gotten their quarry to stand down? It was like she _wanted_ a battle to the death.

“Who are you to judge me and tell me what to do?” the Winter Soldier snarled. “You think I can’t recognise a fellow killer when I see one?”

Clint winced. This was devolving quickly. He had no idea why Natasha didn’t like the Soldier so much, but her animosity wasn’t helping anyone.

“You’re right,” Clint interjected, “which is why we’re not taking you in. We just want to talk. That’s all. You’ll be free to leave afterwards if you want,” he promised while hoping Natasha wouldn’t contradict him. 

“Talk about what?” the Soldier - Bucky, Clint had to remind himself - asked.

“What’s changed,” Clint said honestly. “Why you’re not working with Hydra anymore.”

Bucky laughed out loud, a bitter and angry sound.

“Bucky never worked for Hydra.” The appearance of a cute puppy vanished, Steve’s face hard and fierce. “They enslaved him. Broke his mind into pieces and forced what was left into mindless service.”

Opening his mouth, Clint closed it again. That certainly sounded like Hydra, but Bucky didn’t seem broken. He seemed perfectly in control of his faculties. Yet, Clint was _sure_ something had changed, because they were all alive, and the Winter Soldier was eating cronuts in the middle of a standoff. Not just eating them, he’d eaten them _first_.

“This isn’t the place to talk about this,” Clint pointed out. “So? Safe house? You have my word, it’s just to talk.” 

Clint heard Natasha hiss in displeasure behind him, but ultimately he trusted her to support him. As much as she wasn’t happy with this, she would keep Clint’s promise as if it was her own.

“He’s telling the truth,” Steve said with utter confidence, before nodding towards Natasha, “and she won’t make him break his word.”

Bucky looked up at Steve, but he was listening, tension leaving him minutely.

“Do you want to go with them?” Bucky asked his companion.

Steve smiled, bright and boyish once more, then brushed a kiss across the Winter Soldier’s forehead. And wasn’t that a sight? watching the assassin being loved.

“What does it hurt to listen?”

Bucky sighed, but nodded to Steve, then turned to Clint and nodded again.

“Okay,” he agreed, “but we leave whenever we want.”

“You have my word,” Clint confirmed and hoped he wasn’t getting in over his head.

\---

Bucky shouldn’t have been surprised when they got in the agents’ vehicle and Steve plastered himself to his side. It still took some getting used to, having someone so affectionate wanting his attention. Someone who wanted to touch him kindly, gently, tenderly. Someone whose touch he in turn wanted, even craved. Someone he was starting to think he was in love with, human or not. There was a quality to Steve’s touch, the absolute affection of it, that he had never experienced with another soul.

Humming with pleasure, Steve nosed against his temple and Bucky blushed, realizing he hadn’t noticed Steve’s presence in his mind. It had become so common, so expected when they touched, that it felt like another part of himself.

_Love_ , the words were tugged from inside him, _Yes, that is it._

_What is it?_ Bucky thought back, taking Steve’s hand in his own. The agent that had been following him was staring at him strangely, so he stared back despite his blush. Embarrassed or not, he could make a man flinch just with his stare.

_What we feel._

Bucky started, the sensation of something warm and soft slipping up his pant leg distracting him from the amused satisfaction in his mind. It was almost sneaky as it slid rapidly under his clothes, rasping gently over the short hairs on his shins, small suckers teasing at the thin skin on his knee, smooth tips tickling at his thigh before it reached the place where his cock rested in his underwear and _touched_. It curled and pressed against his cock, the thin cotton of his boxers separating the tentacle from flesh. Bucky could almost feel Steve huff in exasperation. A moment later, the tentacle retreated, only to return pressed tightly to his skin, edging it’s way under the leg of his boxers, squirming, trying to wrap itself against Bucky’s flesh.

_That’s not love,_ Bucky argued. _That’s lust_.

_That, too_ , Steve agreed. The way his god spoke in his mind was still so strange, but though the thoughts were his own, there was no mistaking them for anyone but Steve. 

The tentacle finally had enough of a grip to start squeezing, gently massaging Bucky’s cock, making his breathing ragged in moments. The tentacle was soft yet firm. It squirmed and tugged at his cock, and god it felt good, that grip with its tiny suckers teasing at his sensitive skin. The tip of the tentacle, smooth and wedge-shaped, curled itself around the head of Bucky’s cock and carefully slid itself under his foreskin, making him tense and lock all his muscles so as not to jump. The tentacle tip, velvety smooth and blood-warm wriggled deeper under his foreskin, rubbing at the exposed glans, making Bucky hiss out a breath and his cock start to harden rapidly.

When Bucky could control his thoughts again, he asked, _What did you mean both of us?_

_You doubt my love for my chosen?_ Steve asked, manifesting another tentacle that wrapped about Bucky’s other leg, rising quickly, until the suckers were teasing the inner skin of his thigh. _Need I show you?_

Closing his eyes, leaning heavily against Steve’s side, Bucky swallowed hard. It was, at the best of times, overwhelming to be the focus of something as powerful as Steve. To be loved as well? Bucky wasn’t sure he could handle that.

_Maybe now isn’t the best time for this_.

_Because of the humans?_ Steve asked. _Do you want me to eat them? They are not Hydra, but you fear them. I do not like it._

The pleasure Steve was offering, which the agents _watched_ and yet seemed utterly oblivious to, was making it hard to think, let alone lend his thoughts to coherent sentences. That, however, was the beauty of having Steve in his mind, why he had invited the god back. He didn’t want the agents - he was guessing they were S.H.I.E.L.D., but they could be C.I.A. - dead. He wanted them to leave them alone, though if truth be told, he hadn’t thought Steve found them dangerous at all.

_No eating, then._ If a thought could sound like a sigh, that was it. _My touch embarrasses you? Do you want me to stop?_

_It’s more the public part,_ Bucky assured, _with witnesses, that I’m objecting to._

_That’s not you telling me to stop._

The tentacle with its tip rubbing gentle circled onto Bucky’s glans twitched and started pressing more firmly, making a shiver race down Bucky’s spine.

The second one that had been so innocently tasting his thigh just a moment ago was now sliding between his legs, over his balls, encouraging him to spread his legs, before sliding beneath him. The tentacles could change how big they were. They could flatten themselves into barely a ribbon, or could expand into something thicker than an arm. This one, illicit and quick, was so small, the suckers so tiny, they were all but nonexistent as it slid over his perineum. The tip touched his hole, stopping for a moment to rub, suspiciously wet, then pushed in. 

It was narrower than a single finger, but it was inside and still pushing, extending in a way only something not limited by mass could.

_The things I want to do to you,_ Steve thought, and the images welled up in his mind. Bucky stradling Steve’s thighs, Steve’s impressive cock buried inside Bucky as his tentacles wrapped around them, filling his mouth, and teasing him everywhere. Pressing inside him alongside the cock already there, making him whimper and just shake with it all. Bucky inside Steve, several tentacles pumping into his ass, his mouth, while they both writhed in pleasure. There were thoughts, too, desires - Steve’s - to touch him, to hold him, so they were both warm and sated and happy. The contrast nearly made Bucky lose control, and he shook his head hard as a moan threatened to escape him.

“You alright?” Clint asked.

“Fine,” Bucky barked.

Steve’s amusement swelled, but on the heels was pride. Pride that Bucky was allowing himself this, that he was allowing Steve this. Bucky knew he could make it stop in a moment, in less than a heartbeat, because his god was in his mind. Steve knew everything he wanted, everything he felt and thought, and yet still he said he loved Bucky.

_I do_ , Steve assured, _so much_.

The tentacle wrapped around his cock was pulsing in steady movements, almost jerking him off inside his jeans. His cock was hard already, and so sensitive it was taking all his focus to keep his breathing in check, to stop the noises that wanted to escape his chest. The tentacle inside him was the worst. It remained small and thin while under his clothes, no bigger than a finger where it breached him, but where it was already inside him? There it swelled, became heavy and impossible to ignore. It felt so good to be filled with something thick. It tied him in place, pressed at his prostate, at his insides, a soft, heavy pressure. 

Bucky noticed he had stopped breathing completely, too afraid of making noise. He closed his eyes and just _felt_. Felt the pleasure spiking, the hand he had tangled with Steve’s clamping down. It felt so good, too good. He was being stroked from the inside, on the outside, Steve’s nose nuzzling at his temple. It was building - incredibly, wonderfully - and if he didn’t stop it, he was going to come right there.

_Stop._ Bucky squeezed his eyes tight, _I can’t. Not in the car._

The tentacles didn’t vanish; they froze, cradling Bucky in their grip. Letting him breathe, harsh though it was, and relax. Letting him calm down. Then very carefully, they slipped away, pulled out of him, off him, and disappeared as they had appeared. Steve didn’t leave his mind, pleased, proud satisfaction coming off him in waves. He didn’t stop holding Bucky’s hand, either, didn’t pull away from his side though they had the entire back seat to themselves.

_Later_ , Steve promised.

_Yes,_ Bucky nodded, though he didn’t have to. _Later. All of it._

\----

Pushing open the safehouse door, Clint glanced back at Bucky and Steve. The former he was starting to suspect had never worked for Hydra willingly. The later, however, he suspected wasn’t even human. S.H.I.E.L.D. had encountered several inhumans over the years, finding ways to keep their powers from harming the people around them. Steve, Clint suspected, was one of them. A Hydra experiment who had managed to addict the Winter Soldier to his touch. It was the only explanation he had for what he’d seen in the car. One moment, they’d been sitting in silence. The next, Bucky’s eyes were closed, his face red, breathing harsh, muscles tense; showing every indication of a man about to have an orgasm. Yet, all Steve had been doing was holding Bucky’s hand, kissing his temple. 

Who wouldn’t come to depend on that kind of touch?

When Clint looked at Steve, he couldn’t sense any malice. The big guy was genuinely happy to hold Bucky’s hand. To just be here, craning his neck to take in the sparsely furnished home. From the bag he’d carried all the way from the alley, he had produced an abundance of cronuts, handing them out again as they entered the safehouse. It was the Soldier who assessed the rooms, his cool blue eyes flicking quickly from one entry point to another, no doubt finding weaknesses to exploit. He remained passive though, not challenging or projecting aggression.

No, Steve wasn’t a threat, but he _was_ the dominant personality in their relationship.

“Steve?” Clint asked. “Why don’t we go to the kitchen? It’ll be more comfortable to talk there.”

Steve nodded, turning unerringly toward the kitchen without any guidance. Bucky followed, quick on Steve’s heels, bodyguard to his innocent companion, and Clint shared a look with Natasha.Though she was as disturbed by the strange dynamics as he was, she had also realized Steve was the one to watch out for.

In the kitchen, Steve pulled out a chair for Bucky, then set the bag of pastries before him. He then sat at Bucky’s side before linking their hands. For once, both ignored the cronuts, watching Clint and Natasha intently as they took seats as well.

“I’m Clint,” he said, introducing himself and offering his hand. Steve took it, Bucky didn’t. “This is Natasha. We work for S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Bucky huffed.

“That tells us so much, considering Hydra owned it a few years ago.”

Steve’s thumb rubbed circles on the back of Bucky’s hand, blue eyes intense, but he remained quiet.

“I put a stop to that,” Natasha said, her face as expressionless as her voice. “S.H.I.E.L.D. is not Hydra.”

“Not any more,” Bucky snapped, but Clint watched him sharply reign in his temper as Steve squeezed his hand.

“Fighting isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

“Exactly,” Clint agreed with Steve. “Like I told you, if you really were working for Hydra under duress and we can clear your name, we will.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, not believing them for a second, even as Steve asked, “How do we start?”

“What are your names?”

“I’m Steve, and this is Bucky.”

Bucky gave Steve a fond smile, before looking Clint in the eye.

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes.” His grey eyes were cold and ancient. “Sergeant in the American army, captured as a P.O.W. in 1942 by Hydra, and freed just four weeks ago.” 

“Sorry,” Clint said, pushing a finger into his ear, “what? Nineteen forty…?”

Steve chirped, “Two.”

“Um...” Clint tried to rally, but his brain struggled to process how old that would make Bucky with how young he looked. “And they brainwashed you…?”

“They broke me -” 

The words were cold, but Bucky stopped speaking as Steve made a sound of distress. Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s temple again, squeezed his hand, and picked up where he’d stopped.

“They tortured him, isolated him, they did everything they could think of to control him, and still they they had to use a machine. It took his memories, made him a blank slate they could mold to do what they wanted. It fractured his mind even more.” Steve carded his hand through Bucky’s hair as the Soldier stared down at their hands, not meeting Natasha or Clint’s gaze for the first time. “I couldn’t put it back together again, not how it was, but I like who he is now very much.”

Bucky huffed, but it was a weak sound.

“You just don’t have any scale for comparison.”

“Any man I compared you to would be lacking,” Steve declared. “I love you.”

There was a smile tugging up at Bucky’s lips.

“Yeah,” he said gently. “Me too.”

The smile that broke out on Steve’s face was radiant, and Clint cleared his throat before they lost them again. 

“Sorry, this is all just… a lot. When you say you put ‘it’ back together, you mean Bucky’s mind? His mind from 1942?”

Steve chuckled and nodded, then immediately contradicted himself.

“Yes, and no. His mind as it is now. I couldn’t leave it as it was, that would have been cruel, and he was...” Steve paused, turning to Bucky and smiling something sharp and seductive and entirely at odds with the man they’d seen thus far. “Well, what was is between us.”

The Winter Soldier blushed again, and was the one to clear his throat this time.

“Is that enough explanation?”

“Um, well,” Clint glanced at Natasha, “if we can prove it, it should clear your name.”

“Proof?” Bucky leaned forward, all fluffiness melting away as the metal hand came down hard on the table top even as he extricated himself from Steve’s loving hold. Without a lovesick man wrapped around him, Bucky looked like the Winter Soldier at last. Bigger and intimidating as he glowed with rage. “You need _proof_? After seventy goddamn years? After coming after me exactly like Hydra did?” The plates on the metal arm rearranged themselves with a loud _clink-clank,_ and Clint leaned back in his chair, his hand inching toward his weapon. “You want me to prove my own torture? You have the _gall_ to judge me? To make _me_ deliver proof of all that Hydra did to me? When you were part of that same organisation?” 

Bucky was gritting his teeth so hard the muscle in the side of his jaw was jumping. Steve didn’t look to be doing anything to reign in Bucky this time. In fact, he was watching his lover sadly, but there was no urgency, simply a calm understanding. It was _creepy_. Someone who clearly felt so much for Bucky should have felt regret, or guilt for their lover’s suffering. This weird _nothing_ was not normal. They had to determine what the hell Steve was more than they needed to determine Bucky’s guilt or innocence.

Not ruffled by Bucky’s outburst, Natasha crossed her legs.

“Innocent until proven guilty, Barnes. The burden of proof would be ours.” She leaned forward, unafraid, getting into Bucky’s face. “Clint was referring to whether or not you actually are Bucky Barnes. You accuse of us being Hydra? If you were in our position, you would never just take our word. You would find proof you are who you say you are.”

“What does it even matter if I’m some poor schmuck from the Forties? It’s been so long, it doesn't matter to anyone but me.”

Natasha’s elegant brow arched imperiously.

“It matters because under U.S. law, you can’t be charged for any crimes committed under duress as a P.O.W. You want to be on the run for the rest of your life? Or do you want to give this one,” a red painted nail stabbed in Steve’s direction, “a real life?”

Bucky looked at Steve and then started laughing.

“I like it when you laugh,” Steve murmured.

“You also like to eat people,” Bucky grumbled, still chuckling.

Seeing his opening, Clint asked hesitantly, “You don’t really eat people, do you?”

The look Steve turned on him chilled Clint to the bone. The innocent, handsome man was gone again and his gaze was ancient. Not like Barnes’, which was more world-weary. When Clint met Steve’s gaze he felt the weight of millenia.

Then Steve smiled. Even Natasha looked uneasy.

Instead of answering the question, Steve said, “His sister is alive. You can compare their make-up.”

“I don’t wear make-up.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Do you want me to wear makeup?”

“I _meant_ ,” Steve said, “the way you are built. The core that makes up what you are. It will be similar enough to your sister’s that they can confirm you are you.” 

“You mean DNA?” Natasha interjected.

Steve reached for Bucky’s hand, brushing his fingers over his knuckles. Then he nodded, as if the touch had answered the question. 

“Yes, that’s what I mean.”

The more Clint saw of Steve, the less he liked. More than ever, he was sure Steve had killed those Hydra soldiers. Not the Soldier, the Disney fan. Crushed and mutilated them and hid them creatively so they weren’t even sure they’d found them all.

“And what about you, Steve?” Clint tried to keep his voice calm, but there was a higher note he wasn’t going to admit to. “Are you another P.O.W. from World War II?”

“I’m Steve.”

“That’s… not much of an explanation.”

“You think you want more of an answer. I assure you, you do not.”

Glancing at Tasha, Clint opened his mouth to contradict the statement, but she shook her head. Her lips were set into a thin line, eyes fixed on the man they’d assumed was an innocent when they’d first met him. 

“I felt you, in the cave.”

Steve’s blue eyes shifted to Clint’s partner, and crinkled as he smiled.

“You’re sensitive. There are so few of you left.”

Bucky looked at Tasha as well, his eyes unreadable.

“You can feel him?”

Tilting his head, Steve said, “I thought you were against sex. If you want, she can feel me.” 

“Your joke is getting old,” Bucky grumbled.

Steve brushed a kiss against Bucky’s temple.

“It’s old when you’re not amused.”

Natasha ignored their affectionate words, sticking to the point.

“What does sex have to do with me being aware of Steve?”

“Because people are either unaware of him,” Bucky gestured to Clint, “afraid of him, or apparently sexual-partner material.” The last was added with a bit of bite, and a cross look at Steve, drawing a frown.

“I meant to share with you,” Steve defended with an air of feigned innocence.

Bucky lost his cross look and snorted out a short laugh, which wiped the frown from Steve’s face.

“Please explain,” Tasha demanded tiredly, leaning her head onto her hand.

“Sorry,” Steve said, turning to Natasha and focusing on her completely, “I am oft distracted by my beloved. As he said, most humans are unaware of me, only knowing what I am when they have seen it, at which point they lose their minds. A rare few since the cullings know what I am just by being where I have been.”

“And what are you?”

Clint frowned, looking at the Black Widow as she whispered the question. It wasn’t like her. She sounded… scared.

“You know what I am.”

“Tash?” Clint laid his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, you need a break?”

“No,” she whispered, then, louder, “No.” Straightening, she met Bucky’s gaze again, shaking off Clint’s hand. “There’s a room for the two of you in the back. I’ll start tracking down your sister so we can run the DNA and clear you.”

“Don’t...” Bucky paused, words failing him. As Steve wrapped his arms around the once-infamous Winter Soldier, he said quietly, “Don’t tell her I’m alive.”

“We won’t,” Clint promised. 

“I think I can tell her we found your remains, though,” Tasha added. “As a cover, if you don’t mind. She can at least get closure, if you want to offer it.”

Bucky nodded, his eyes weary once more.

“Bed,” Steve declared, standing and taking Bucky with. “Now.”

Bucky looked at Steve, his expression softening. The sadness did not leave his eyes, however, not completely. He attempted to smile at Steve, though. It caused Steve to clench his jaw and pull at Bucky’s shoulders all the harder. Clint was briefly jealous. No one had ever been so determined to make him happy, or protect him, like Steve was with Bucky.

\----

The room they had been given was nicer than Bucky expected, but bland. No pictures or ornaments, just a double bed, dresser, desk, and window with bars. He’d expected a cot, or a cell, not an actual place to sleep where they could be comfortable. 

Steve led him to the bed, made him sit, and sat beside him. Tentacles whipped from nowhere, setting their belongings about the room. It was, admittedly, the best part of being with Steve. He was just so damn _convenient._ They didn’t stop there, they spread out, investigating the room. They weren’t fully physical yet, still passing though the furniture. That had been pretty difficult to get used to. A lot of things, were. Bucky wasn’t sure if Steve knew how he expanded when they were alone. He still held the human form, but there was a sense of pressure, a sensation that made Bucky’s nerves tingle. 

“Steve?” Bucky said. 

The smile Steve directed at him was carefree and easy.

“They were interesting,” Steve said, leaning against Bucky’s shoulder. “They have been touched by things not of this world.”

“You think we can trust them?”

Steve laughed.

“If we couldn’t, I’d have eaten them. They are not Hydra, beloved. They did not hurt you, or know of your pain.”

“I don’t like them knowing too much about you.” Bucky frowned, feeling ridiculously protective of his tentacled god. “There is always something bigger and badder out there.“ 

Reaching out, Bucky pressed the flat of his palm against the thick tentacle crawling over the chair next to him. It felt hot and rough, the skin warm and alive under his touch, but underneath he could feel powerful muscles flexing. It still hurt his brain to think of how physical and flesh-like the tentacles were, even when he could see them emerging from the shadows in the corners of the room. This one twitched under his touch, shifted, pulling the thinner end from under the table and curling it up towards him, then wrapping itself around his wrist. Even though it was gentle, Bucky could still feel its power and sheer strength.

Surprised by his comment, Steve watched Bucky carefully.

“Humans are such an interesting species. You know what I am, yet you worry about me?” Steve tilted Bucky’s face towards him. “No one has ever worried about me.”

“I can’t help it. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

A tentacle wrapped around his legs, steadily climbing higher. It squeezed and released gently as it progressed, wrapping around Bucky’s calf, his knee, then his thigh. Others abandoned the recesses of the room, showing off their surprising dexterity by gently pulling at Bucky’s clothing, peeling it off his skin. What Steve was doing with his clothes he didn’t notice, fixated as he was on his eyes, nearly glowing as he gently brushed their lips together.

_And you, me_. The words welled up in Bucky’s thoughts and Bucky sighed, leaning forward and letting Steve take over, letting him into his mind. The longer they were together, the more it felt like that was where Steve belonged. Or like they belonged as one. Maybe that was the same thing.

Steve’s amusement flooded Bucky’s body, and Bucky opened his eyes to find Steve was no longer beside him but behind him, sliding up the bed. His clothes were nowhere in sight, the firm muscles of his avatar flexing beneath his golden skin. His hands slid over Bucky’s sides to his hips, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps.

The tentacles lifted Bucky, wrapping around legs and stomach, pulling him onto Steve’s lap. Lips brushed his ear and Bucky shivered, moaning softly, his head falling back onto Steve’s shoulder. “You are a beautiful sacrifice,” Steve murmured into Bucky’s ear. Bucky would have laughed, but the tip of a tentacle slithered between the cheeks of Bucky’s ass. It pressed gently at his hole, teasing. 

Bucky gasped, “One you didn’t want.”

The tentacle rubbing at his hole became slick, the moisture slightly cool and tingling against his skin. Bucky wrapped his hands about Steve’s forearms and held on, breathing loudly as the tentacle narrowed down and then started pressing in carefully. Steve’s slick was quick to work, setting his nerves on fire, pleasure spiking like mad. He wouldn't even be able to have sex with a human again, not after Steve. He’d spoiled him for all others.

_But I enjoy you, nonetheless._

Bucky slid his hand up the arms holding him, whining a little because he couldn't reach anything of Steve. He couldn't kiss him, couldn't touch him, couldn't even see him.

“Steve,” he complained, arching, squirming in Steve’s lap. “I want to kiss you.”

The tentacles, a mass of writhing, moving flesh wrapped around his legs, his knees, his hips, and his shoulders. The small tentacle inside him didn't withdraw though, kept thrusting shallowly, slicking him up, making him writhe and moan and tingle. The tentacles shifted him in the air as if he weighed nothing and then he was being lowered over Steve, _finally_ facing him.

“Better,” Bucky said, then pulled Steve to him. Steve’s lips turned upward in a smile before they kissed. The tentacle inside him chose that moment to flare out, thickening without warning. Bucky gasped into Steve’s mouth, shuddering at how good the stretch and the presence inside him felt.

There were more tentacles now; not only the big, strong one that held him partially in the air, but smooth, smaller ones dripping with slick. They touched him gently, curiously, sliding up his chest and down his legs, covering him with the secretion that made every touch send little fireworks of pleasure through his body.

Desperate to feel Steve hard against him, Bucky kissed him with all the heat that had gathered in his body, desire spilling out of him. He licked and bit at Steve’s lips, twisting and moving until the tentacles pressed them together. He could feel Steve breathing, the powerful chest expanding and contracting. He could feel how hard Steve was, his long cock trapped between their bellies. Briefly Bucky wished for tentacles of his own. There was so much to touch, so much to caress; the short, silky hair that Bucky just had to run his fingers through, the pecs that filled out any shirt he wore obscenely; the pink, tight nipples that Bucky wanted to suck, and the large, pretty cock trapped between their bodies. He really wanted to touch those long legs and feel the muscles twitch against his fingers. He _wanted_ Steve. So much, he whined, the sound lost in Steve’s mouth.

Steve were just so pretty, so perfect; a god just for him.

“I want,” Bucky gasped between kisses, hands sliding down between their bodies to wrap around Steve’s cock. He had trouble breathing or thinking with that tentacle inside him, fucking him with an ever-thickening width. He used his metal arm to grab the nearest slick limb and it curled inquisitively over his wrist. “I want to be inside you.”

_Yes_ , Steve agreed, not breaking their kiss to say the words aloud, _Fuck me_.

Even as he said it, Steve spread his legs, hooking one over Bucky’s hip. That would have been helpful if it weren’t for the second small tentacle nosing against his hole, trying to push in beside its brother. Bucky moaned, fighting to stay coherent and to drag the captive tentacle between their bodies and then lower, between Steve’s legs. He let it slide over his fingers until he had a good grip on the tip and then dragged it over Steve’s crack, slicking him up with his own secretions. He hoped it did for Steve what it did for him, that it set all his nerve endings alight. The way Steve arched and moaned said it might. 

“You are so beautiful,” Bucky murmured, leaning down to lick at the nipples that had been taunting him through Steve’s shirt the whole day. Small and perky, they fit into his mouth perfectly. He sucked and bit at them gently, relishing every sound that Steve made, every twitch and shiver. 

When Bucky felt the second curious tentacle slowly force its way past his own rim, he pushed the tentacle he had in his grip into Steve. They both arched, Bucky’s eyes fluttering closed at the increased stretch, the overabundance of slick dripping down his balls, his heavy cock, making his skin tingle and causing the very air to feel like a caress.

Unable to help himself, unable to think straight, he pushed a finger into Steve alongside the tentacle. The tight ring of muscle gave sweetly under the pressure. Steve gasped, his knees pressing against Bucky’s sides, pulling him in closer. He groaned and shifted again, grateful for the powerful tentacles keeping his body still, and dragged his flesh hand over the excess of slick on his body before closing it on Steve’s dick and jerking him off. The slick was perfect, thick enough not to dry or slip away, and made stroking easy and wet. The cock in his hand felt achingly hard already, pink, and the head a darker shade. There was wetness beading at the tip that Bucky ached to lick away.

“You.” Steve gasped, body arched taut. “I want to feel _you_ inside me, not me.”

Bucky grinned at the mixed invitation and complaint.

“Don’t you like- Oh god.” 

Bucky lost his train of thought when he realised what the twisting, moving tentacles inside him were up to. They twinned together, rubbing and pressing against his prostate. Bucky gasped, hands going loose as his eyes all but rolled back at the pressure that _just kept growing_. The tentacles settled, twisting over and over each other, knotting themselves into a large, pulsing, warm ball that Bucky could barely breathe against.

“Oh, Steve, oh,” Bucky gasped breathlessly, hanging limply in Steve’s grip, as more tentacles wrapped around his body.

Even his moans were silenced when a slick tentacle nudged against his lips, then slid past. Slick and sweet, it felt thick and heavy against his tongue. Forced to swallow from the copious amounts of liquid it produced, Bucky then moaned again as it slid in deeper, right into his throat. It fucked him slowly, just as Steve did sometimes with his cock, pushing in until Bucky saw stars, then withdrawing ever-so-slowly. The knot of tentacles inside him was doing the same thing; pushing in carefully before pulling out as much as Bucky’s body could stand. It felt so _good_. Everything was wet, everything tingled, sparks of pleasure shooting down his back, setting every nerve on fire.

Through all the sensation, Bucky was vaguely aware of the tentacle slithering from his grip. Steve’s long legs wrapped about his waist as the tentacles tilted him forward, pumping easily into him, all his holes, filling him beyond reason, and wrapping around his cock. Half-sobbing, Bucky shuddered as pre-come leaked from his cock. With his eyes closed, it took the pressure of Steve’s body against his tip to make him realize what his god was up to. 

_Inside me_ , Steve’s thoughts confirmed. All he could do was cry out as his cock slowly breached Steve’s body, pushed past the resistance, as deep as he could go. The pressure, the wetness, the heat was enough to make his eyes roll back. The pleasure was almost too much to bear. He whined deeply, the sound choked off by the tentacle in his mouth. His hips twitched, instinct driving him, but it was Steve who was guiding him, his tentacles pulling him until his entire cock was buried in Steve. 

Overwhelmed, Bucky panted through his nose, mind and body reeling from the abundance of sensation. He was filled in all possible ways, his cock squeezed and caressed by the slick grip of Steve’s hole. Satisfaction and pleasure washed through Bucky’s mind; Steve’s emotions shared through whatever link he had made to Bucky’s brain. Bucky became a creature of pleasure and sensation, he knew nothing but ecstasy, floating on his own physical sensations as well as the ones Steve was sending. Every inch of his skin sang with it, his cock and ass turning it to fire that traveled along his nerves, up his spine, and he shuddered in Steve’s grip over and over. 

One of the tentacles that had formed the thick ball, pressing against his prostate, came first. Warm, thick fluid filled his gut, leaked down his thighs, filling the air with the sharp scent of Steve’s release. It slid free soon after, but was quickly replaced, with hardly a pause for Bucky to notice. Bucky did notice Steve’s moans, his soft cries, and opened his eyes to watch the perfect body beneath him writhing in pleasure. Steve was flushed, the color starting high on his cheeks and crawling down his neck, spreading over his heaving chest. Bucky stared helplessly, lust-stricken, as it expanded with every breath. Steve’s tiny, tight nipples stuck out obscenely from his body, and Bucky’s eyes trailed from them, down past the tightly ridged stomach, to the beautiful, dark red cock spreading precome all over Steve’s belly. Even as filled as he was, Bucky whined, sucking harshly on the tentacle in his mouth, imagining his mouth wrapped around that cock, tongue lapping up all that precome, tracking every vein and every groove. 

With a shout, Steve went still and his body clamped down on Bucky’s cock like a vice. Bucky was already so close, he pushed into that tight heat once and lost control. Spasms wracked his muscles, and his cock pumped his own seed into Steve, hot jets of come that had Steve moaning with each new spurt. 

Dazed, Bucky realized the tentacles were lying him at Steve’s side as his shoulders found the bedspread. They curled about Steve, pulling their bodies tightly together. Steve nuzzled his cheek, then tucked his head beneath Bucky’s chin, his arms joining the tentacles to embrace him. 

Sighing, Bucky ran his hands up and down Steve’s back, into his hair - and then gasped as the tangled tentacles inside him rolled. 

“Steve,” Bucky hissed.

“Hmm?” Steve asked, as if he didn’t already _know_.

Bucky could only moan, eyes fluttering closed, as the twisted limbs lazily rolled again. Then they slowly withdrew, almost as if they’d just been reminding Bucky that his body was Steve’s. Or his pleasure was Steve’s. 

_Or_ , Steve pulled at his thoughts, _that no one will ever make you feel like I do_.

“I love you,” Bucky whispered, then flushed at how sappy he was being and changed the subject, “They probably heard us.”

“Let them listen.” Steve shrugged. “We have nothing to hide. You are my chosen.” Lifting his head, Steve pressed a gentle, tender kiss to Bucky’s lips. “My _cherished_ chosen. After such a trying day, you deserve respite.”

Bucky laughed, half-incredulous at the way his life had turned out, half in sheer joy.

“You are truly a god,” he murmured, “and an incredible lay. I am well and truly spoiled for any others now.”

Lips curling in a secretive smile, Steve said, “Good. Then I will keep you for as long as I can and spoil you rotten.”

Pushing his legs between Steve’s, Bucky smiled and kissed his god sweetly.

“I can’t wait.”

The End.


End file.
